


Safe Home

by jacyevans



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Angst and Feels, Background Relationships, Canon Compliant, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Five Stages of Grief, Future Fic, Gen, Gen Work, Grief/Mourning, Minor Allison Argent/Scott McCall, Not Romance, Pack Family, RIP Allison Argent, Tissue Warning
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-03-23
Updated: 2015-03-23
Packaged: 2018-03-19 04:54:49
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,172
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3597099
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jacyevans/pseuds/jacyevans
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Four times Scott McCall doesn't celebrate St. Patrick's Day, and one time he does.</p>
<p>Or: how Scott stops mourning Allison Argent's death and starts celebrating her life.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Safe Home

**One.**

Scott doesn't do anything his senior year of high school.

His mother doesn't even force him to go to class, just brushes a hand through his hair, kisses him on the forehead, and tells him she loves him.

He drags the covers over his head, hoping to sleep the day away. His friends, of course, have other plans. He hears the quick thump of Stiles' heartbeat, the clack of Lydia's shoes on the hardwood floors, but they're otherwise silent.

Stiles raises the covers high enough to scoot in at his front, Lydia at his back, letting the comforter drop back down over their heads.

Scott shuts his eyes, inhales hard and sharp. Presses his face into Stiles' shoulder and listens to himself breathe.

 

**Two.**

His freshman year of college, Scott tries to go to a party.

His roommate drags him out to one of the houses on Frat Row, where he drops a cup of green beer in his hand.

"Isn't this great?" he says, and Scott grimaces around a mouthful of beer.

There's too many bodies in too small a space, reeking of sweat and alcohol and arousal, and Scott drops his cup in the trash, holding his breath until he gets outside, where he takes in a lungful of fresh, cool night air.

He walks back to campus with his hands in his pockets, stares up at the sky - at the moon, not yet full, but still tugging at his bones.

Cinnamon and sweat and lilac shampoo, feet falling into step on either side of him, and Stiles nudges at his shoulder.

"What up, dog?" He grins when Scott groans.

"A dog joke," Lydia says flatly. "Stiles, really?"

"I don't hear Scott complaining."

"Because Scott's sense of humor is as dull as yours."

Stiles flails, turning around and walking backwards so he can argue with Lydia face to face. Scott catches him when he inevitably trips. "Just because you can't appreciate my rapier wit--"

"More like dimwit."

_"Hey!"_

They bicker the entire way back to his dorm, up the stairs and into his room, while they're kicking off their shoes and stripping out of their clothes, while Scott tosses Lydia one of his t-shirts and Stiles a pair of pajama pants.

Scott slips into his bed and holds up the covers, waiting for Stiles and Lydia to slide in before letting the sheet fall over their heads. The mattress here is a lot smaller than the one at home, but they make do, Lydia pressing up against his front, Stiles at his back.

Scott lets the sound of them talking wash over him, smiling softly to himself. They smell like pack, like home, and Scott breathes them in, feels himself calm for the first time in days as their voices finally taper off.

"Thanks," he whispers into the silence, squeezing both of their hands.

 

**Three.**

Sophomore year, he's too busy fighting for his life to think about anything else.

There's a full moon in the sky, rain pouring down on their heads, and a coven of witches standing sentry around the nemeton, trying to steal its power for themselves.

Stiles works on bringing down the shields they built, but it’s slow going, one emissary's power no match for nine well-trained women, the oldest of whom steps out of the circle, easily ducking the arrows Lydia fires her way.

Liam is closest and takes off running, even after Scott screams at him to fall back. Derek tries to catch him, but it’s too late; the witch opens her hand, revealing a palm covered in fine, yellow dust, which she blows in Liam's face.

Liam stumbles. Mason and Brett rush to catch him as he falls to his knees, and for a brief, terrifying moment, Scott thinks she killed him.

Then, Liam throws Brett into a tree. He backhands a startled Mason, sending him flying across the clearing. He hits the ground hard enough that something snaps. Mason doesn't get back up, and Scott holds his breath until he can make out the slow but steady sound of his heartbeat.

After that, it’s chaos, Malia and Derek trying to keep a feral Liam at bay, Braeden emptying an entire clip trying to kill the older witch, who bats away each bullet long before they hit. 

A crack of thunder rumbles overhead, so loud that Scott fights the urge to cover his ears. Kira’s up and running before the lightning strikes, a flash of electricity crackling across her palms as she drives her katana into the shields.

The blowback knocks all of them to the ground; the older witch barely falters.

Scott takes a running leap at her back, driving his claws into her sides with a roar, and the witch laughs, even as blood bubbles up into her mouth.

“You cannot defeat us,” she says, voice cutting off as Lydia fires an arrow into her heart. Scott rips his claws from her body. Her blood slicks his palms.

Lydia jumps down from her perch in the trees. “Cut the head off the snake,” she says, just as the rest of the coven step away from the nemeton, holding up their hands and dropping to their knees.

Stiles and Malia stay behind to clean up the mess, Braeden to wave her badge around when the sheriff’s department shows up. Kira and Brett ride with Mason to the hospital. He thanks whatever deities happen to be listening that Lydia still hasn’t screamed.

Derek and Scott drive Liam towards the clinic, while Lydia shoots incendiary arrows to keep him on the right path when he veers off course. Deaton is waiting with a syringe-loaded cocktail that manages to stun Liam long enough for them to lock him in the back room.

“The drugs should be out of his system by morning,” Deaton says as he shuts the door. Scott already hears Liam stirring. “After that, he’ll need to rest.”

Derek offers to take first watch. He claps a hand to Scott's shoulder as he moves to stand in front of the door.

Outside in the waiting room, Scott changes into the spare set of clothes he keeps in his locker, then lowers himself to the floor with his back against the wall. He tilts his head back and shuts his eyes. He's exhausted down to the bone, wants nothing more than to go back to his house, throw the covers over his head, and shut out the world.

He smells them before he sees them - rain and mud, the mountain ash underneath Stiles' fingernails as he grips Scott's wrist. Lydia's arm wraps around his shoulder, and her hands smell like the leather of her archery glove and the guard still wrapped around her forearm.

"Thought you were heading home with your dad," Scott says, without opening his eyes.

Stiles shakes his head, his hair brushing against Scott's temple. "There was somewhere else I needed to be." He pauses, and Scott opens his eyes to find him frowning. Both of them are wearing dry clothes that don't belong to them, Lydia a pair of scrubs that smell like the supply closet in Deaton’s office, Stiles in sweats and a t-shirt that smell like Braeden and, more faintly, of Derek. Stiles squirms around so he can yank his arms out of his jacket.

"You look like a demented squirrel," Lydia say, and Stiles gives her the finger, then catches his hand on the sleeve. Lydia smirks.

Scott watches, amused, as he finally manages to pull free, tossing the jacket over all three of their heads.

"There," he says, out of breath. He grins. "I am a genius."

"You're something," Lydia mutters, and Stiles lets out a yelp of indignant protest.

Scott huffs a laugh and tilts his head onto Lydia's shoulder.

 

**Four.**

He forgets junior year.

Scott spends the day with his mother at the hospital, sitting with her behind the desk at the nurse's station the way he used to when he was a kid. She ruffles his hair, and he grins around the french fries in his mouth.

He's halfway home when he passes a house covered in green string lights with a bright green shamrock blinking on the roof.

Scott jerks the steering wheel, and the car skids to a stop on the side of the road. His breath comes in sharp pants, claws puncturing holes in the leather of his seat.

The passenger side door is flung open, and hands clutch his shoulders while he fails to catch his breath.

"Breathe with me Scott," Stiles says. He grabs one of Scott's hands, pressing it over his heart. "Come on. Breathe with me."

"I forgot," Scott gasps, pressing his face into Stiles' chest. "I _forgot."_

Scott focuses on the steady _thump, thump, thump_ of Stiles' heartbeat, on his hand rubbing circles on his back. He inhales and exhales when Stiles does until he doesn't feel like his stomach is going to jump out through his throat.

"How did you find me?" Scott mutters, rubbing at his face.

"I'm Stiles," he says, as if that should be obvious. He shrugs a shoulder. "Also, your mom told me."

Scott snorts into his shirt.

He isn't surprised to find Lydia waiting for them, sitting on the stairs at the front of Stiles' house. Scott follows her inside, dragging his feet, positive that if he tries to walk up to Stiles' room, he'll fall asleep standing up.

Instead, they build a pillow fort in the living room, the way he and Stiles used to when they were kids. Lydia throws pillows and couch cushions across the floor, while Stiles uses the chairs from the kitchen to drape blankets over their heads, tying the ends to the slats so they stay put.

"You remember the time we put up that _No Parents Allowed_ sign on Halloween?" Stiles says, throwing himself down on the floor.

Scott laughs, covering his face with his hands, while Stiles regales Lydia with the story - they'd blocked themselves in, surrounded by blankets on all sides, both of them dressed as pirates and declaring the couch their ship.

Claudia pried apart two of the blankets above their heads. She ignored their outrage in favor of lowering down a plastic basket filled with candy. It was topped off with a note: _Even pirates need to eat._

The sour scent of grief as Stiles speaks is overlaid with something sharp and sweet, and Scott can't remember the last time Stiles talked about his mother and _laughed._

Stiles nudges Scott in the shoulder as the laughter tapers off, like he's reading his thoughts. "It's okay to move on, Scott," he whispers, and Scott doesn't bother to choke back his tears, just buries his face in Lydia's shirt and cries.

 

**\+ One**

Stiles shows up at his dorm room his senior year while Scott is packing to go home. He lets himself in the door and tosses himself down onto Scott's bed.

"I have a _brilliant_ idea," Stiles says, grin stretching across his face.

The rest of the pack is already waiting for them in the preserve by the time they get back to Beacon Hills, at the lookout where he met in secret once upon a time.

They’re stringing up blankets at Lydia's direction, over the roofs of their cars, tying them to tent poles that Derek digs into the ground. Kira presses her finger to the bulbs hanging down from the branches, grinning when they light up, illuminating the clearing in shades of soft yellow.

Stiles drops a bright green top hat on Scott's head that reeks of plastic. Lydia glares at Malia, who shrugs, the shamrocks shaking on the springs on her headband.

"What? You said to bring something festive."

Braeden grins when Stiles manages to sneak up behind Derek and drop a similar headband on his head - only this one lights up.

Derek chases him across the clearing, the ridiculous shamrocks leading the way. Stiles yelps when Derek tackles him to the ground. Brett laughs so hard, Liam has to hold him up.

They settle down with boxes of cold pizza, coolers full of beer and wolfsbane infused lagers that Derek brewed himself. Kira and Malia toss popcorn across the clearing, cheering every time they manage to get a kernel in Liam or Mason's mouths.

When Stiles loudly protests the lack of green beer, Lydia shoves a cupcake covered in lurid green frosting into his mouth. Scott laughs himself sick.

They fall asleep in a warm pile, sleepy and sated. Scott sits at the edge and breathes in the scents of his packmates, until Lydia drags him down between her and Stiles.

"She would be so proud of you," Lydia whispers; Scott's breath hitches. Stiles squeezes his waist.

In the morning, they wake and watch the sunrise, heads resting on shoulders, hands resting on knees, so entwined that Scott has no idea where one of them ends and another begins.

Except --

 

On a rock at the edge of the cliff's face lies a single, silver-tipped arrow.

**Author's Note:**

> While browsing my dash on the 17th, among all of the Allison Argent memorials were scattered posts wishing a Happy St. Patrick's Day. Until then, it hadn't occurred to me that the two were the same day. With that thought, this fic was born. I wanted to have it done earlier but life, as it does, got in the way.
> 
> Title is from an Irish saying, _slán abhaile,_ the literal translation of which is _safe home._ I thought it was fitting for Allison and Scott.
> 
> Huge, heaping thanks to [thatworldinverted](http://archiveofourown.org/users/thatworldinverted) for the beta.
> 
> Come hang out with me on [tumblr!](seaboundandaimless.tumblr.com)


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